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A fowl is missing from the next village.
That night they heard a shriek,
A snap, retreating feet and silence.
Jòná says “who cares?
It is not my fowl”.

Then a goat was stolen six streets away
We found clean bones and spices
And remorseful cooking devices
But there was no goat.
Jòná says “who cares?
It is not my goat”.

Then some girls were stolen
From across the street
While still suckling
On their mothers’ teats
The men were in no hurry,
They waited for dinner
Stole the girls and the cutlery.
Jòná says “who cares?
It is not my cutlery”.

The moon and stars are shy tonight
As hefty men leap over the fence.
We hear heavy footfalls outside the wall
Then a noise on the roof
Jòná whimpers, “Could that be my roof?”
Soon we hear a knock, a very loud one
On the centre of Jòná’s door.

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